Living Without Gene
by Jazzola
Summary: When an armed blag goes badly wrong, Alex must learn to live without her Gene Genie. But is that even possible? And what will happen to Gene's world now that he is not in it? Warning: sombre, and, obviously, character death.
1. Tragedy

"Armed blag on North Road, a jeweller's place. Five blokes with guns. Move, move, move!"

Those three sentences were enough to galvanise the A-Team of Fenchurch CID- Gene, Ray, Chris and myself- into action, and in a flurry of papers and cigarette smoke the room was evacuated of the four of us as we rushed towards the Quattro and piled in, tyres screeching away and heading to the blag before my seatbelt was even fastened. Gene glowered at me as if to say, "What are you, a copper or a harpist?", and I left it, holding onto the door for dear life instead.

They were just coming out as we arrived, bags full of jewels in hands and backpacks, guns slung over shoulders and in holsters at their hips. The ringleader was the first to make his move, pulling his revolver out suddenly in one smooth move and shooting at the windscreen of the Quattro, smashing it with a disturbingly beautiful sound; as glass cascaded onto me, I could feel the draft from the bullet, just centimetres away from my ear.

"Drop yer weapons! Yer surrounded!" Gene yelled, his Manchester tones stark in the cold air, lifting over the screams of people around us and the yelps of the robbers to each other, masking even the roar of the old van they were using.

The leader laughed, firing again, this time getting Ray in the leg. Ray collapsed back, clutching his injured thigh, clearly in horrific pain from the injury; I could hear his gasps of agony from the other side of the Quattro, desperate and shuddering, more like something from a horror film than anything else.

"That's IT!"

Gene advanced further, almost effortlessly dodging bullets, his face serious, grim, contorted with rage and hatred. The man to the right of the leader received a bullet to the chest as Gene's gun recoiled in his gloved hand, wisps of dark smoke drifting lazily away from the barrel as the man dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Another was felled by Chris, crouched beside his mate, firing away until his gun was destroyed by a bullet down the barrel; dropping the carcass of the pistol, he dragged Ray from sight instead, sheltering him behind the Quattro.

It was me and Gene against about four of them, minus the one we'd gotten; Gene was moving forwards all the time, managing to avoid the continuous fire towards him as I distracted them by shooting as well, screaming at the top of my lungs to give them even more confusion. Gene's hand was a blur as it shot over and over again, the gun like a living, murderous creature in his palm, bending to his will, destroying the creatures in front of him.

And then it all happened too quickly for me to react.

Gene's foot stumbled on a man-hole in the road; before he could catch his balance again, steadying himself with his arms, they were firing on him, this time catching his body with their arrows of lead, one going into his stomach, another into his shoulder. Gene didn't even try to fight back.

He just fell.

Barely even seeing them flee as I scrambled over to my wounded Guv, my world blurred; all I could feel was the blood on my fingertips, the draining life resources of the man I had grown to love, who had protected me with his life on more than one occasion- silently my heart wondered if he would ever do so again-

And then Chris was next to me, his fingers finding Gene's pulse, murmuring that he was holding on, he was trying, he could feel a heartbeat-

I could hardly breathe-

The ground was turning scarlet around me-

A warm, thick liquid was staining my knees, stealing onto my skin, warm and crimson, Death and Life rolled into one-

And I couldn't take it in, what was happening, the terror of what I knew was happening right now, in front of me, as Chris ripped off his jacket to try and staunch the blood flow from Gene's stomach and I unconsciously pressed my hands to his shoulder to apply much-needed pressure to the wound, coming back to myself a little, knowing that there wasn't much we could do, but the little we could might be enough to save him, bring the one and only Gene Genie back from the brink of extinction.

A cough shattered my daze as I held the heels of my hands to the wound above his arm, one that was so familiar a tear seeped down my cheek just at the sound of it.

"Gene!"

His eyes just managed to open, slivers of the most beautiful blue I had ever seen, begging me in that second to listen, to hear what he needed to tell me. Spitting out a little blood, his mouth began to work, moving into the shapes needed to make words but not producing enough noise for me to hear.

I bent my head right down to his, my hand drawing soothing circles on his skin, my heart pounding so hard it might never recover but my mind starting to go blank, the only thing entering it being the sound of Gene's weakened voice as he whispered to me, my hand finding his and squeezing it hard, refusing to let him give up.

"Bolly… I… I'm sorry… I… I love you…"

"Don't give up, Gene, stay with me," I urged him, squeezing his hand harder, tears tumbling freely onto his shirt. I only just registered that they came from me.

"Bolly… please…"

"I love you, Gene, stay with me, come on, fight, damn you!"

But however much I tried to make him stay, to keep him with me and conscious and breathing, however much I tried to keep his weakened but noble heart pumping, it was nothing compared to the force of the bullets embedded deep in his weary body, the flesh that still had so much to give.

"Gene… please…"

"Bolly…"

And his voice was so faint that I could barely even catch it.

As his hand became limp in mine and a slight gasp came from his lips, I knew that he was gone.

And then there was nothing.

Just darkness, filling the void, the gap, the hole, that was once my soul, and seemed to have died along with Gene Hunt.

I didn't even know that Chris had gently lifted me away from Gene's body until he was draping a white sheet over the body from the ambulance that had just come in and stopped a few metres away from the Quattro. I couldn't stop shaking; bile was slowly rising in my throat, threatening to choke me completely as I saw the sheet framing the shape of Gene's face, indents for his eyes and a peak for his nose…

Unable to take any more, sobbing my heart out and about to vomit, I blacked out, toppling sideways against the Quattro and knowing no more other than complete and utter misery in my dreams.

* * *

A/N: Ooh… this turned out nice and sombre… do people mind it being this sad? Tell me if you want more of this! I'll just be off reading something a little less grim. Thanks in advance to all reviewers! Jazzola :)


	2. The Morgue

"Step back. She's waking up."

Everything was blurry as I opened my eyes, my chest aching for a reason I couldn't yet remember. A starkly white ceiling swam into vision, swirls of paint the only decoration on it, so different to the cloud-speckled sky I had been under what felt like only seconds ago I was completely disorientated.

"What… who… someone…"

The only person I knew I could rely on came into my head.

"Gene? Are you there? Where's Gene?"

Someone moved forwards, into my line of sight; a young woman with wavy red hair, grey-flecked blue eyes gently gazing into mine, her freckled hand reaching out to press against my forehead.

"No temperature. How do you feel, Ms Drake?"

"Who're you? Where's Gene?"

Still I didn't remember what had happened. The young nurse hesitated; my eyes found her name badge. Leanda, printed in small black letters; it gave me something to concentrate on, and the familiar shapes of the letters brought me back to myself.

And then it all came crashing down.

"Gene… GENE!"

And his deathly-pale face was in my mind's eye again, the lips whispering my name, the last word he would ever speak…

Crying out, I curled into a ball on the bed, Leanda's hands reaching out to gently tug the pillow into place and stepping back respectfully as the tears began to flow, my fists clenching, pummelling the mattress, sobs and screams echoing round the miserable room as it smashed into me that I would never see my Gene again.

"We've moved his body to the morgue. I'm not sure if you want to go and see him, but it's your choice whether you do."

I nodded through a haze of tears. My whole body seemed to ache but be numb at the same time; my thoughts could be of nothing but Gene. His voice crowded my ears, stuck in my head like a broken record, his final, faint words or his powerful bark, and the way his eyes had just glossed over, ceasing to move as his heart stuttered and finally fell, like a soldier gunned down in battle. Which was what he could have been described as.

"Would you like to go?"

I stuttered over mumbling "yes", wondering inside if it was the right choice. My heart told me it was; I knew that, in the state I was in, nothing could make things worse; the phrase "going to hell and back" came to mind, but I hadn't yet come back and I didn't know if I ever could.

"OK. I'll get a porter to take you there. You're in no fit state to walk; you wouldn't even get to the door. Just hang in there, Ms Drake."

Leanda quietly took her leave, giving me a small smile, trying to reassure me. Nothing could help me now, I thought, trying and failing to return it. As she turned to open the door, I caught the shimmer of tears in her young eyes.

I couldn't feel anything for her, though.

The porter arrived after a couple of minutes, pushing a dowdy old wheelchair, squeaking to a halt next to me and motioning for me to get in. Leanda put her hands under my arms and helped me in like a child; had I been in any normal state, I would have been annoyed, but still any emotional space I had was taken up by the mind-shattering pain I was feeling after… I didn't even want to think about it, but it wouldn't leave me alone, festooning itself in my brain and not letting me think about anything else. Even if I had wanted to try and forget the events of the previous day, my train of thought would have come in a circle back to it, and then his face would have filled my head again and his pout and I would have been unable to stop it.

"It's just down here," Leanda told me, holding doors open for the porter, her blue uniform a sharp contrast to the dull grey and off-white of the surrounding walls and furniture. Every so often the sound of crying would come from a room; I shuddered each time, not sure if I could take much more sadness.

And then we were there and Leanda was quietly telling a young man in front of the door that I wanted to "see" Mr Gene Hunt.

Taking deep breaths to try and steady myself, I clutched the armrests of the wheelchair hard as I approached the curtain around a small area of the morgue, my heart thumping so hard that the edges of my vision turned red.

Leanda's hand reached out to gently ease the dull brown fabric back.

And there he was.

Gene seemed almost shrunken in death, his eyes closed, inanimate, pale- cold. His injuries were covered by a white sheet, a different one to the one Chris had draped over him at the scene of his death, and the only part of his body visible was his head, the dark blond hair brushed back, flicked in places with red, surrounding his white skin like a golden halo. The thing that had made him him was gone; it had flown away, maybe to somewhere where I could never follow it. I could barely stand to see him, to know that those lips would never kiss me again, or frame the teasing sexual innuendos that had become part of him; but a little part of me wanted me to stay, and I knew this would be the last time, apart from the funeral, that I would see him again.

I stayed for what felt like days, but could only have been half an hour or so, stroking his cold skin, my hand caressing his, my heart bursting and my tears soaking into his lifeless skin.

Inside I knew it was useless.

Inside I knew I would never recover from losing him.

* * *

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to 57mrsmary on YouTube; I replied to her comment on Everybody Hurts by R.E.M. and it was her who gave me the "going to hell and back" paragraph. I hope you, unlike Alex, can recover, hang in there- my thoughts are with you. Jazzola


	3. The Funeral

"Do you think you're ready for this, Ma'am?"

I could only nod in response to Shaz's quiet question, feeling slightly warmed by the feel of her hand on my arm, despite the fact that it was doing nothing to ease the chill that had pervaded my heart, my very soul. Shaz pursed her lips, smudging her pale lipstick onto her chin, biting down on the glossy swell of them as Chris came through and motioned to her that it was the beginning of the ceremony.

I heard it starting before I saw it starting; the deep thrum of the organ, the sorrowful notes swelling through the air, sombre, dark. An elderly woman was the only person in the front row, dressed entirely in black, on her lap a picture of a young boy, blond-haired and smiling, gently ruffled by a calm wind, clutching an old-style leather football and liberally smeared from head to foot in mud. The eyes and the pout could make it none other than Gene, looking about six or seven, impish and somehow cute. I bit back a sob at the sight of the picture, but looking up at the woman clutching it was worse; her elderly face, already careworn, looked as though she would never lift it from its deep, awful depression, drawn and pale with loss, as though her very blood had drained out as her son's had in those terrible, harrowing seconds.

A cough sounded from one of the back pews, and a hearse drew up outside, sliding to a stop in front of the church doors. My stomach quavered; I felt like throwing up as the doors were gently opened and the six uniformed pall-bearers, five of them DCs from Fenchurch East, and Chris and Ray among them, and the coffin was eased out, draped in a British flag and with a Manchester City scarf hung over the front, where Gene's neck would be. I bent my head and wept uncontrollably, knowing that inside that box, that death case, lay my Gene, my love in this world, my rock, the one person I had grown irrevocably close to, our bond so strong that I could never undo it in a million years, nor would ever want to.

And yet it had been severed by two bullets in a matter of seconds.

The organ piece gently came to an end, its heart-racking tune finished but the sound still lingering on, hatefully morose. I almost wanted to tear my own ears off to stop it reverberating round my skull, screaming into the mind that just wanted to shut down until this grinding, tearing-at-my-psyche agony had passed and I could live again. Shaz put her hand on my shoulder again, her black gloves masking the smoothness of her skin, depriving her touch of the sensations that made it human touch, the comfort of the cavemen; I almost wanted to hiss at her to take the bloody things off, but knowing that I needed to maintain my decorum at Gene's funeral, of all places, I simply gritted my teeth and focused on the warmth of her body instead.

"My congregation, we are gathered here today to say our final goodbyes to a man we all knew and loved in life, and will never forget after the passing of his death. I will call on his team and family to speak about him…"

I didn't catch what he was saying once he was past that bit. Next to me, almost silent, as though it was borne on a mournful wind, Gene's coffin had passed, the pall-bearers with pale faces and morose expressions, some of them red-rimmed.

The next thing I could focus on was Ray's speech; his stuttering voice and the lack of his usual smirk paid testament alone to his lost Guv. Gene had been his role model, his idol, the man he looked up to beyond anyone else, and the man who, at the end of the long, sometimes miserable day, had been his drinking buddy, fellow laugher at Chris, fellow ridiculer of Italian cuisine and music. He would be feeling the loss so keenly. Silently, though; no good would come from that, and I knew it.

"'E 'ad the 'eart of a lion, an' underneath 'is tough persona 'e was kind, an'- an' 'e just wanted to do the right thing an' right the wrongs, make the world a better place. An' 'e ended up dyin' just fer bein' 'oo 'e was, doin' what 'e'd always wanted to do. 'E 'ad much more ter give ter this world, an' 'e'll always be at Fenchurch while we're there. Know that we won't forget yer, Guv."

Ray took his leave, gulping hard, hobbling down from the platform and refusing Chris's help as he made his way carefully and painfully back to his seat.

Chris just said three words, looking down as he said them, trying to hide the tears that I knew were escaping from his eyes: "We'll miss him."

Shaz's tribute I didn't catch at all. My eyes were fixed on the smooth wood of the coffin, so unlike his rough and ready personality, and my mind was running with the horror that inside that coffin lay the only man I had ever really loved, the only man who had given all he had for me, cold and lifeless and bereft of the animation I had adored.

The tears began running, sliding down my icy face, dripping onto my chill heart, stony with the pain of loss.

I couldn't watch as they lowered his coffin into the frozen earth, ice dewdrops sparkling like sorry diamonds around us, as cold as my soul had become in the aftershocks of what had happened. Ray, next to me, slid his arm round my neck; Chris was holding Shaz's hand, Shaz's sobs quietly reverberating in the sombre air.

The vicar's meaningless words were blocked by my sub-conscious as I leaned down to place Gene's hip-flask on top of his coffin, my hands shaking so hard that it clanged on the desolate wood before being set down on top of it. Shaz pressed her lips together to try and make herself stop crying, knowing what Gene would say if he was here, to be brave.

And then they were shoving the earth on, all dignity for the human being lying in that deathly casket gone. Gene vanished from sight.

But he would never vanish from my mind.

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the delay on this chapter, but I hope you like it now it's up! There may be a little more delay as I've lost my bloody story plan, i.e. it was in my pocket and now it's not. I'll be emptying the vacuum if anyone wants me. Jazzola ^^


	4. Luigi's

Three months passed since Gene- since you know what- and ever since that fateful day I had been sitting up in my flat, drowning myself in alcohol and rejecting Shaz's invitations back into CID. Carefully, she told me about the new DCI, a man named Thomas Thornton. Gene would probably have called him "a right poof", due to his love of golf and various Spanish wines. My heart ached every time she referred to him as "DCI Thornton"; the only DCI I want to work for is my very own Guv. I was reassured when she told me, with a small smile on her face, that nobody calls him by anything other than DCI Thornton and Gene's name has not been removed from his door, nor his possessions from his office, despite DCI Thornton's hatred of Gene's style of decorating.

Gradually I began to come back to myself; my senses began to return, although the block of sorrowful ice that was my substitute for a heart showed no signs of thawing. Slowly but surely I was regaining my sense of being, my _raison d'être, _the thing that got me through the first year or so of this strange world; getting back to my daughter. Maybe losing Gene had been a sign from whoever controlled this world that I was going home, that he was being defeated.

That left the question of why I felt like I was slowly dying whenever I thought of him unanswered, though.

The next step in my recovery was to start doing everyday things, like going down to Luigi's as of an evening.

Deciding that improving my general appearance would help my mood as well, I broke open my make-up bag for the first time since the funeral, applying electric blue eyeliner and eyeshadow with subtle blush and a little lipstick in my favourite pale pink. Remembering pressing lips that same shade to Gene's cheek as he slept next to me, blue-tinted tears tumbled from my recently-made-up eyes and splashed dolefully onto the vanity table, giving me up to fresh hysterics as I once again mourned my loss.

"For goodness' sake, Bolls, pull yerself together! It's just going down the boozer, nothin' amazin'. Yer'll be fine."

I jerk my head up, startled, his voice reverberating so truly in my head that I could have sworn it was real.

Swerving round, I saw that the room was completely empty except for me and my grief.

Turning back to the vanity table, my eyes drowning in tears still, I re-applied my mascara and eyeliner, blessing the gods of make-up for keeping my eyeshadow in place, and grabbed the high heels I hadn't worn once since- it- happened, I slipped out of the door and down into the trattoria, my determination renewed, Gene's spirit in my every step.

* * *

"Ma'am!"

Shaz threw herself at me, hugging me hard, her eyes teary but her smile rivalling a Cheshire cat's, dragging me over to the CID table and sitting me down, mothering over me like an over-protective hen. I smiled at her, but all I really wanted to do was sit in my and Gene's corner and remember the nights I spent here with him, holding onto his rough, caressing hand under the table, smiling into his mesmerising, bright eyes and letting him snuggle me into his embrace.

Chris nodded at me, his face grey and his eyes swollen, tell-tale signs of crying and misery that he clearly didn't want paraded all over CID; I gave him a tentative smile, my hand reaching out for Gene's under the table and then remembering, clenching hard, driving my brittle nails into my palm and breaking two of them. I didn't care.

"Ma'am, yer there?"

Hearing Ray's Mancunian accent made me want to sob my heart out, but I resisted and instead nodded at him, taking in his own drawn face and Shaz's worried expression as a new man came over to the table, settling himself at the head of it and giving me a wide smile, pouring a glass of wine for himself.

"DI Drake, this is DCI Thornton," Ray mutters, and I could tell from his tone of voice that he wasn't keen on DCI Thornton either. The man nods curtly at me, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Just call me Guv. Nobody else seems to."

Ray's face became a mask. Chris turned away almost immediately, his eyes misting over. Silence descended throughout the trattoria, people turning from other tables to see what the matter was and Luigi stopping mid-drag on his cigarette.

I looked down at my lap, willing myself to stay calm, to keep it all inside and cry it out later, up in my flat.

But the tears, rather like the man whose death has brought them on, didn't wait.

And before I knew what I was doing I was sobbing, screaming in the middle of the restaurant, my tears staining my shirt and Shaz's as she leaned over and let me cry on her shoulder. I could feel Ray's arm round my shoulders, Chris's hand on my arm, several of the DCs berating Thornton. I didn't care.

Ray lifted me up from my chair like a child, his arms surprisingly gentle, carrying me outside and into the solemn night air, with Chris and Shaz flanking us and otherwise only my desolation, my grief, my all-consuming sorrow for company.

I fell asleep in my friends' arms, their friendship surrounding me but not penetrating through the icy loss that I could so keenly feel, the regret and desire seeming to swallow me whole and refuse to let me be.

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the delay on this, and I apologise if it's not up to my usual standard, as I feel absolutely rotten today. Hope you like it anyway! Jazzola :L


	5. CID

The letter that came through a couple of days after the Luigi's incident told me that if I didn't return to CID the day after it was delivered, I would lose my post as DI in Fenchurch East CID. The ultimatum had been given two weeks after the allocated time I had been given as compassionate leave after Gene's death; I was beginning to come to terms with it, but still struggling with everyday things such as talking with Shaz, buying clothes (I would hear his voice in my head, critiquing every item, and would tend to go with the clothes that were the sluttiest and he would have liked the best) and eating properly. The doctor I had to see after collapsing in my flat and being discovered by a worried Luigi told me that if I didn't start eating properly soon, I would be at risk of anorexia.

Trying to decide whether to go back to CID or to give up my job and life there was a challenge. I knew I had Shaz there, and Chris and Ray would give me their utmost support, along with the DCs and the rest of the station, all of whom knew and respected Gene completely. But the real challenge lay in the post Gene had held- DCI Thornton, who had shown very little respect for Gene whatsoever and seemed to have barely given his predecessor, the legendary Manc Lion, any thought at all.

Talking with Shaz about it would be too difficult. Chris and Ray would misunderstand completely, and Chris, bless him, would be hopeless anyway. So I turned to the one person I knew would be able to take it in: the little Gene in my head, the voice that I could hear whenever I missed him unbearably or needed the feel of his strong arms around me, holding me and soothing away my worries.

"_Just be yourself, Bolls, an' knock 'im dead. Don't forget to let 'im know that it's my kingdom an' 'e's just a substitute for me. I 'ave faith in you, Bolly, an' don' you forget it, eh?"_

Jumping and spilling my glass of wine at the distinct sound of his voice, ringing through my psyche, I clasped my hand to my heart and let the tears fall once again.

But despite my sorrow, Gene's voice had given me fresh determination. Let Thornton be a bastard. Let him take Gene's role as though it had always been his if he wants to.

But I knew who belongs in that glass office, and it wasn't him and never would be. I would always see a different person when I looked at that little sanctuary, and it would be our true Guv, the man I would always love and would never recover from the loss of.

Somewhere, I could feel some sorrow for Thornton- what chance did the man ever have?- but his attitude towards Gene made that ebb away pretty quickly. He was a boorish, poor substitute for the DCI of Fenchurch East, but he wasn't about to destroy Gene's memory forever, and that was what made me decide to return.

Nevertheless, it was with a heavy heart that I readied myself for my first day back at CID the next morning.

* * *

"Good to finally see you again, DI Drake."

I gave DCI Thornton just enough of a glare from under my eyelashes for it to compute with him, sitting myself down at my desk, which seems completely untouched since the day I lost Gene, since that fateful morning when we rushed to our DCI's death. Checking it over, it had been dusted once or twice, but otherwise, everything was where it was before, neatly in place and well-organised; the memory of Gene teasing me about my tidiness flashed into my mind, and I had to bite back the urge to be sick all over the checkerboard floor that his boots strode across so many times, the base of his kingdom…

Pretending to be charitable but really just wanting to get back at me for my obvious snub of him in Luigi's and the shameless avoidance of him ever since, Thornton put me on paperwork for the whole day, piling files and forms on my desk with vindictive grins at every possible opportunity. I gritted my teeth each time I was forced to look up and thank him for it, fire roaring through my chest, a temper that felt an awful lot like Gene's seething away in my core.

After what felt like an eternity, a call came through for a jeweller's that had been robbed, a diamond necklace quietly stolen by a small group of young men, evidently trying not to copy the all guns blazing incident in which Gene had died and which had been very well publicised. Thornton, grinning all over his smug face at the prospect of a call, grabbed up his coat and called Ray to his side in a lordly fashion, ignoring Chris completely and giving me a superior look badly disguised as concern as he opened the doors, blocking Ray's way out and creating an unnecessary holdup. "Gene would've been going by now," I growled to myself, avoiding Thornton's gaze but tuning in to Ray's "Ma'am's a DI, why isn't she comin'?"

Thornton turned to look at me, his eyes flicking down my body, coming to rest on my front, which he kept his gaze on as he spoke to me. I gritted my teeth, hating where he had his sights, inside hissing at him that they were for Gene only.

"DI Drake isn't up to calls yet. That much is obvious from the shoddy paperwork, the less than elegant attitude, and the obvious desire to avoid her senior officers. She will be remaining here until she is- well- enough to attend incidents."

The monster in my stomach roared; my temper snapped in two as I stood up, advancing on Thornton, noticing Ray shrinking away in the corner of my eye, him recognising my legendary temper and not wanting to get on the wrong side of it.

"You are an arrogant, selfish, self-important, conceited, useless, pathetic excuse for the DCI of this station! How dare you stand there with the attitude you're showing and speak to me like a three year old, not caring that I have lost the man I loved for years and am still getting over it, treating my team like scum and desecrating the station Gene worked so hard for. You don't deserve this post one bit! I would rather stab myself than watch Gene's Fenchurch East fall from grace at the hands of a bastard like you. Piss off, you perverted loser!"

The room erupted into applause; Gene's name was called all over Fenchurch East CID as I stormed out, pushing my way past a stunned Thornton and shoving him into the doorway as I went.

The echoes of "DCI Hunt lives on!" echoed in my ears as I made my way onto the streets, hugging myself, pride beaming on my face and fuelling the biggest smile I'd worn for months. I made my way down the high street, shoppers moving out of my way left and right, Gene's spirit moving in my rage and my happiness at the response from CID.

I was on top of the world, the world that had turned around completely since that morning.

I was so elated I didn't see the arm reaching out from an alleyway and grabbing me, pulling me into the dank space, clamping fingers over my mouth to stop the screams I shrieked into the cold morning.

"Bolly!"

I was shocked into immediate silence by the gruff voice that found its way into my ears as I struggled, my eyes widening, too amazed to do anything but go limp.

"G-Gene…?"

* * *

A/N: Nice little cliffhanger for you there! There won't be any more of this until I'm back from my holiday in Germany (I get back on the 1st November). Sorry! :( Hope you like this, and please remember to review! Thanks for reading. Jazzola :)


	6. The Choice

My screaming subsided as soon as that voice reached my hearing; the strong arms around me smelt faintly of whisky and cigarettes, and the scent was so familiar I was sick right there, on the pavement of the alleyway, retching onto the cold concrete, tears streaming down my face as a fondly remembered rugged hand rubbed over my back, soothing me as a lock of blond hair found its way into my vision.

I looked up, hardly daring to believe what was happening. Surely this was just someone who sounded like Gene? Maybe this was some kind of wind-up…

That one look erased any doubt at all.

Gene's stunning blue eyes searched mine, concern etched into their warm depths, his scarred and battle worn face thrown into sharp relief by the blunt light of the alleyway. His clothes were the ones he'd died in, only there was no trace of the bullet wounds, the bloodstains, anything like that or from that awful day; he was unblemished, pure, and entirely my Gene.

Without another question, I threw myself into his arms, pressing my face into his broad shoulder, breathing in the smell like a child with a cuddle blanket, my senses on overload, his gentle murmurs of "Bolly" enough to bring out renewed sobs.

As my tears splashed onto Gene's shoulder and his strong arms held me, rocking me softly, I could have sworn I felt one or two tears that weren't my own soaking into my top.

"What're you d-doing here?" I whispered as soon as I could talk, looking up at him, taking him in once again as fresh tears sprung into my line of sight. Gene continued rocking me, the calming sensation seeming to help him as well; his face looked troubled as soon as the question had left my lips, and one white tooth snuck out from his mouth, biting down on his lower lip, making him look almost boyish, innocent, despite the weathered complexion surrounding it.

"I 'ad to come back. I- I've been watchin' you, seein' 'ow miserable you were, an' I knew I 'ad to do somethin' to 'elp you."

I furrowed my brow, not understanding at all. Gene sighed, crouching down next to me instead of half-standing, half-leaning over me, resting on his haunches and looking straight into my eyes.

"So you really are from the future after all."

My first thought was, _Well, that wasn't what I was expecting. _My second one was, _How in the name of all that's holy could he possibly know that?_

"I'm sorry for not believin' you, Bolls…"

"Never mind that, I wouldn't have believed me if I'd been you. How did you find out about that?"

"They told me. Don't ask me 'oo they are, Bolls, I dunno myself. But they told me that you were from the future, an' that there, you 'ave a daughter an' your godfather an' a life, everythin' you could need-"

His voice broke, quietly, strained.

I could do nothing but stare and grab Gene's hand as the Manc Lion began to cry.

"Gene? Gene, what is it? Gene?"

Forcefully drying his eyes on his sleeve, Gene managed to fix his gaze on me, his bright irises blurred and snail trails of glittering liquid on his cheeks. I'd never seen anything so- awful- than my Gene, upset, trying to put on a brave face and not succeeding.

"Please, Gene, talk to me," I murmured to him, reaching out to wipe the salt tears from his cheeks. He gently caught hold of my hand, clutching at it as though it was a lifebelt.

"I 'ave to tell you, Bolls. I am, to all intents an' bloody purposes, dead, an' the only way for me to come back is if someone else- someone else dies in my place. Someone they've selected. Someone from your world."

Desperation surged through me, tinged with worry, with helplessness; this seemed completely outside of my control. Wrapping my arms round Gene, I nestled against him, trying to give him comfort from my warmth, my pressure on his body.

"There's this woman. She's on life support in 2008, in the other world. She's badly injured, been shot, an' the doctors don't know if they'll be able to save 'er. She's got a young daughter as well."

I listened carefully, my lips curving into a small smile as I compared this mystery woman's predicament to mine.

"She's the one, Bolls, an' I 'ave to find 'er an' ask 'er if she'll give up any chance she 'as of returnin' to 'er daughter to save me. Only I think I've already done the first bit."

"Why, how've you found…"

Gene's eyes met mine, their depths darkening, his hand tightening on mine.

"I'm sorry, Bolls. This isn't in my control, none o' it is. The decision is all yours."

I sucked my breath in as though I'd been winded; what he was saying was too dreadful, too awful, surely too cruel to be true…

If Gene was to come back to life, I had to sacrifice myself, my life in 2008, and any slim chance I would ever have of getting back to Molly.

My lover or my daughter.

My choice.

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A/N: Ooh, how nice of me to leave it at that for six days XD So… what do you think Alex'll do? Please remember to review, I would really appreciate it. Thank you hugely for reading! Jazzola :)


	7. Decision Made

I only just sensed Gene pulling me up from the pavement, gently coaxing me to walk along the pavement and into a small scrubby area of park, his broad hands guiding me with the utmost care and respect. For a fleeting second I wondered if they were going to slide down to my arse, but they stayed where they were and Gene simply sat down beside me and threaded his fingers through mine.

"Bolly. Just know this much. You don' 'ave to choose me- in fact, if it gets you back to your daughter, then I'm tellin' you not to. She needs you more than me, an' I've 'ad a good long life, done everything I wanted to apart from turn back time an' stop myself marryin' the ex."

I gave a tiny snort of laughter, meeting his eyes, seeing the seriousness in his gaze and the love for me, bared in his bright irises, caring and selfless, his never-wavering want to do the right thing burning steadily.

"Please… don' choose me just to keep me alive, Bolly. If your little girl needs you, go to 'er."

I bowed my head, my emotions scattered all over my aching chest. This man was ready to give up his life for me to be reunited with Molly, but I would be killing the man I loved for a future that I didn't know existed.

Was I really prepared to give Gene up for the tiny, ever-thinning chance that I would get back home? And, to that, was I ready to leave this time, the time I had thought I would never see again, for something I didn't know would become mine?

Molly's eyes, envisaged by my own mind in front of me, searched my face as I took a deep breath in, the now fading scene of whisky and cigarettes and what Gene always termed "man-stink" slinking into my senses. I closed my eyes hard, trying to block everything out; maybe, if I pressed down hard enough, it would all rewind and none of this would have happened. The choice was so awful, and so impossible, that I didn't know what to think, what to say, how to keep my heart beating through the sheer confusion and injustice of it all…

"_We're losing her."_

_I tried to open my eyes, forcing them open with my mind but my vision not changing at all; the world still remained hidden behind a sheen of darkness, an impenetrable cloak of black that refused to be blown aside for me or anyone else._

"_What do you think, Doctor?"_

"_We've done all we can, Mr White. It's make or break time for her. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but from what we can see, she's unlikely to make it through the night, and if she does, there will be serious health complications throughout the rest of her life; she might be permanently hospitalised after a couple of weeks of snatched freedom. There's also a strong likelihood that she won't be the woman you once knew; this sort of trauma to the brain will never heal itself, and the damage may have changed her personality, erased her memories. Anything could have happened in there, and there's a very strong chance that we'll never know the extent of the damage that's developed."_

_Evan's strangely distorted, tear-choked voice found its way to my ears, frail and quivering; it broke my heart to hear it, so terrible and weakened, all hope faded from his normally warm and jovial tone. My heart ached to reach out to him, for my fingers to grasp his and hold them tight._

_And then it flooded back in a sea of rage and betrayal: his affair with my mother, the very woman who had given birth to his goddaughter, the wife of his best friend; his deception of me for so many years, never telling me the truth, assuming he could keep it from me forever. Now hatred and fury battled with my love for him in my gut, their primed swords clashing, the emotions swirling in my stomach like a giant, pungent vat of lava._

_Did I really want to go back to 2008 just to live, once again, with the man who had lied to me for most of my life?_

_A doctor's voice interrupted my thoughts._

"_Her pulse is weakening, Mr White. I'm sorry, but she'll be gone by sunrise."_

His words faded in the sterile air around me; the darkness swirled, brightening abruptly. I ripped open my eyes, the world around me burned into my eyes, sharpening as I took it in, the blurred details shifting into sharp focus.

Gene's hand on my back gently pulled me back onto the bench; his expression worried, he waited for me to speak, sensing my shock and uncertainty, unsure of what had just happened.

For me, all there was was the burning knowledge, lodged and growing like a tumour in my brain, that I would never get back to Molly.

Turning, I fixed my gaze as calmly as I could on Gene's, taking in the vivid blue, the gentle flicks of grey and the darker surround, the eyes I knew so well, the eyes I had missed so much in these last couple of torturous months.

"I'm going to die in 2008, Gene. I'll be dead before sunrise, in my coffin before Molly is twelve and two days old. The doctors told me."

Something like hope began to creep into Gene's eyes, but was quickly smothered.

I smiled suddenly, something like a leaden weight being lifted from my aching shoulders, a boulder of decision and responsibility smashed into a billion tiny pieces with the hammer that was the doctor's words.

"I don't have a choice any more, Gene, and if I do, it's death and oblivion, or life and- and you."

Gene's expression didn't change at all; he was watching me, waiting to see what I would do, what my decision was.

My smile grew as I turned and threw my arms around him.

"I choose you, Gene. I choose you."

And then the curtain of darkness returned with a muting swish, dancing over my senses as I plummeted down, down, down, to a place I didn't know but welcomed with open arms.

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A/N: I hope people like the choice Alex made… please remember to review, because it really, really makes my day! Honest, I do a little happy dance every time. *does happy dance and knocks webcam off monitor* Damn! Anyway, as I said, please review, and thanks for reading! Jazzola :) *tries to put webcam back on monitor and groans as it falls off again*


	8. Rewinding

_"Armed blag on North Road, a jeweller's place. Five blokes with guns. Move, move, move!"_

_Those three sentences were enough to galvanise the A-Team of Fenchurch CID- Gene, Ray, Chris and myself- into action, and in a flurry of papers and cigarette smoke the room was evacuated of the four of us as we rushed towards the Quattro and piled in, tyres screeching away and heading to the blag before my seatbelt was even fastened. Gene glowered at me as if to say, "What are you, a copper or a harpist?", and I left it, holding onto the door for dear life instead._

_They were just coming out as we arrived, bags full of jewels in hands and backpacks, guns slung over shoulders and in holsters at their hips. The ringleader was the first to make his move, pulling his revolver out suddenly in one smooth move and shooting at the windscreen of the Quattro, smashing it with a disturbingly beautiful sound; as glass cascaded onto me, I could feel the draft from the bullet, just centimetres away from my ear._

_"Drop yer weapons! Yer surrounded!" Gene yelled, his Manchester tones stark in the cold air, lifting over the screams of people around us and the yelps of the robbers to each other, masking even the roar of the old van they were using._

_The leader laughed, firing again, this time getting Ray in the leg. Ray collapsed back, clutching his injured thigh, clearly in horrific pain from the injury; I could hear his gasps of agony from the other side of the Quattro, desperate and shuddering, more like something from a horror film than anything else._

_"That's IT!"_

_Gene advanced further, almost effortlessly dodging bullets, his face serious, grim, contorted with rage and hatred. The man to the right of the leader received a bullet to the chest as Gene's gun recoiled in his gloved hand, wisps of dark smoke drifting lazily away from the barrel as the man dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Another was felled by Chris, crouched beside his mate, firing away until his gun was destroyed by a bullet down the barrel; dropping the carcass of the pistol, he dragged Ray from sight instead, sheltering him behind the Quattro._

_It was me and Gene against about four of them, minus the one we'd gotten; Gene was moving forwards all the time, managing to avoid the continuous fire towards him as I distracted them by shooting as well, screaming at the top of my lungs to give them even more confusion. Gene's hand was a blur as it shot over and over again, the gun like a living, murderous creature in his palm, bending to his will, destroying the creatures in front of him._

_For a moment, my head reeled with recalled senses: a deep, sharp grief for someone dear to me, the terrible agony of loss and the pain and fury of the memories of this day... I couldn't think where they could have come from at all, and my blanked mind refused to unblock itself for me. Shaking my head free of these alien emotions, I turned back to shooting, relieved to realise that I'd only been thinking for a second or two, and that Gene was still up and shooting, and by now had taken another blagger down, giving a grim smile as the man lay in the road, nursing a bloody shoulder._

_My eyes moved of their own accord, focusing on something important and yet completely insignificant; I could see the manhole cover just next to Gene's boot, and realised with a cold jolt of shock that another step would unbalance him, shifting his weight onto the uneven surface of the metal cover._

_Some remembered agony shot through me as I leapt up and ran out, knowing what I was doing was stupid but not about to stop for anything, knocking him out of the way of it and shooting as I went, my shoulder banging into his warm solidness as he yelped, tripping over his boots and falling onto the cool concrete but safe and uninjured._

_I raised my gun again and took the leader down, watching with a dark satisfaction as he toppled and sank to the earth, his hands at the wound in his stomach._

_Turning, I could see Gene watching me with a quizzical look on his face, something I knew nothing about in the depths of his mesmerising blue eyes._

_"Wha' was that for, Bolly?"_

_There was genuine confusion in his voice at the start, but it faded even as he spoke._

_In the second that followed,_ _I knew everything: the devastating loss of Gene at this very blag; the months of agony and sadness and fury at the world and myself and the blaggers and just everything conceivable; the torture of someone else, someone who had never known Gene and didn't care to preserve his memory, taking his place in the little world, the small community that he would never belong to; the mind-numbing mourning of the man I loved beyond any other I had ever met or romanced._

_Gene's irises met mine, my wide eyes reflected in the midnight pupils, and in that second we both realised it, and both stored it away in our minds and reached out to grasp each other's hands, feeling the skin of the other on our own, vowing never to let fate separate us again as it had before._

_A voice found its way to my ears as I rested my forehead against Gene's, my flesh sensing the pockmarks and scars and wrinkles on his, each telling its own little story that told so much about the man they belonged to, my hand still grasping his as though it was the most valuable thing in the world._

"If you two are done, Ma'am, Guv, I'm bleedin' to death over 'ere..."

Snapping out of it, we laughed at each other and Gene pushed himself up, brushing gravel off his trousers as he marched over to Ray and ripped a strip from his own shirt hem, pressing it against the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Ray watched thankfully, his features still tight with pain but knowing that he would be OK. The blaggers were being rounded up by the massed ranks of uniform who had followed us to the scene, hobbling into cars holding wounds and groaning at their friends, sending the coppers looks of anger and hatred as the doors slammed on their freedom and the lights started up on the tops of the cars.

Watching the plod cars pull away and an ambulance crew hoisting Ray up into the back of their van, I reached back and pulled Gene towards me, wrapping my arms around him and smiling as he returned the hug, his eyes still on Ray and worry festering in their bright depths but a small smile tugging at his pale lips.

"I'm so glad I didn't lose you, Gene."

He turned to look at me properly, thankfulness in his expression, his fingers squeezing mine in a rare show of affection.

"I'm sorry you lost your daughter, Bolls. If there was anythin' I could've done..."

I silenced him by putting my finger on his lips. Surprise flitted across his face, but he fell silent at my bidding.

"There was nothing that could have reunited me with Molly, Gene. At least this way, I can have one person I will always love with me at all times. I don't know if you'll ever understand fully, but just know this much: I know I made the right decision, and I'm not going to regret it."

Gene's eyes told me he understood, staying fixed on mine as we began walking towards the ambulance, crowding in and sitting down next to each other, Gene's hand leaving mine to hold a compression pad against Ray's injury but my hand on the warm skin of his waist, sneaking underneath the ripped fabric of his shirt to feel his body and his presence, a presence I knew I would never tire of or stop thanking whatever united us for.

_

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_

A/N: I'm sorry this is so late, but I've had exams and such and my writing computer's packed up... hopefully PC World will shed some light on the problem, but until then, horror of horrors, I have no word processor! D: I hope you enjoyed this anyway, and please remember to review! Jazzola :)


	9. New Beginning

A/N: I will start with: RIP my computer, which died in late November. I will miss you. :( Sorry for the delay, but exams, other fics and slightly forgetting the plot for this one kind of held me back from writing... next to update will be A Lion In Distress, methinks. Please note as well that this is the last chapter for LWG, but there can be a sequel if people want one! Jazzola :)

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There was silence in the Quattro as we headed back to CID, a man down but so nearly two men down; Chris was bewildered in the back, completely unknowing as to why my hand was resting on Gene's arm the whole way back, as though I was scared to let go of him, needed to feel his solid skin under my fingers; I'd even rolled his sleeve back to expose the scarred forearm beneath, gently massaging his flesh as we parked in front of our destination. Ray's wound was flesh only, a glancing wound that bled a lot but did hardly any damage at all; the doctors had stressed that he just needed rest and stitches and his body would soon do the rest.

My smile grew as I remembered the months of pure pain that I had eliminated, for myself and for many others. Mrs Hunt's tear-stained face came back to me sharply, her shaking hands grasping a picture of Gene in his infancy, the half-smiling little boy totally oblivious to his bloody fate; I had saved her from the agony I knew too well, losing a child. Chris and Ray had been spared losing their Guv. My beam widened.

"Yer look like a cat that's been in the cream, Bolls," Gene commented, opening the door of the Quattro and stepping out, giving Chris a disapproving look as the young DC remained where he was, staring at the back of Gene's seat.

"Oi, Wonder Chris! Yer gettin' out or what?"

Chris hurriedly fumbled his door open, bailing out with a hasty "yes Guv" and all but running to the station, disappearing in a whirl of denim jacket and highlighted hair into the entrance. Gene shook his head at the retreating figure.

"What's got inter 'im?"

I giggled, sliding my arm round Gene, once again needing to feel his firm body under my fingers. He raised his eyebrows at me, but it was for the benefit of the watchers only; I could tell from his gaze that he understood.

"Just can't get enough o' the Gene Genie, can yer, Bolls?"

I grinned at him, slipping my fingers under his shirt, stroking his back. He tensed beneath me, hurriedly drawing his coat across to hide something just below his belt as I laughed.

"Enough o' that, Frilly-Knickers, save it fer later," he hissed to me, no real malice or discipline behind his words as he stalked towards CID, keeping the coat across his front. I walked after him, my smile still intact, the only fly in the ointment being that my chances of returning to 2008- and my daughter- were gone.

_Oh, come on, Alex. Did you really think you'd just wake up from being shot in the head and everything would be alright again? You'd not have any real damage from it, you'd just be completely back to normal with your little girl and Evan. No. Even if you'd still been the full compliment of sandwiches for a picnic, you'd have had to face Evan- the man who had an affair with your mother and didn't tell you, not even when you named your own daughter his goddaughter along with you, and he knew all along what happened with Arthur Layton and didn't once tell you, didn't sit you down and explain everything when you were old enough. It would never have worked, especially as you'd have taken yourself and your daughter out of his life and then God knows what would have happened. You certainly wouldn't have ever met Gene, for a start._

I didn't even notice the little girl sitting in the entrance as I passed by, wrapped in my own thoughts, Gene firmly in my line of sight. I knew I wouldn't be letting him out of it for a while.

_Face it, Alex. From the moment Layton's bullet entered your head, you belonged here in the 80s, without Evan and with people who really do care about you, like Gene and Shaz and Chris and, well, maybe Ray._

My heart panged for Molly, the smile I loved, the prominent birthmark on the smooth cheek that I'd caressed so long ago as she shivered in my arms, the memory of the barrel of a gun staring down at her like a soulless, deathly eye still firmly in her head. My arms curved a little of their own accord, remembering cuddling her, holding her close, reading her stories with her curled up in my arms in bed; my soul ached for her, my little girl, my Molls...

_But sometimes you can't have everything you want, can you? Molly will be OK. She has people who care for her as well. The pain will subside one day. Hopefully, anyway._

Gene banged into his office as soon as he got in, taking his coat off but still keeping his back to the office as best he could as he sat down in his chair, pouring a tumbler of whisky, the office in order with his name on the door and his very good self resting behind the desk, as always. Just for a second, the memory of an unfamiliar, unwelcome face behind the glass panels came back, and I shuddered, pretending to be cold when I got some strange looks from the people around me.

_They all think I'm nuts. I don't care. They should try coming from the future straight into 1981, having been shot by some psychotic, greasy-haired, over-the-hill bastard, and appearing sane whilst they're doing it. Besides, the people who matter don't think I'm mad, and if they do- Gene- they like it._

A little shadow passed by the window as I sat down; blue eyes peered at me, widening. I only just noticed them, assuming it was someone's lost child or someone waiting for someone else in the entrance staring at CID, doing something to occupy themselves while their friend or relative sorted their business out.

It didn't quell the little flicker of recognition that I felt.

I turned back, a little creeped out by the whole thing, standing up to go into Gene's office, craving his proximity once again. Still my mind didn't quite accept that he was back, that he'd come back; I saw him looking up at me, the tiny smile that curved his lips, and moved towards the office.

One door opened softly.

In unison, the whole office looked up to see the little girl standing in the doorway, typical 80s kids clothes framing a slim body, one not yet quite blossomed into womanhood but on the brink of it, long, slightly mousy blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, a distinctive birthmark on her cheek.

My heart all but stopped as the little girl turned to look directly at me; a jolt of recognition and joy slammed through me. The smile on my face redoubled.

"Molls!"

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Second A/N: I hope you liked it! There may be a sequel if you guys ask :) Thanks for reading, and please remember to review! Jazzola :)


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